Till We Have Faces
by Raid Your Memories
Summary: What if the angels interfered in the Winchesters' lives earlier? When Sam is killed Dean sells his soul...to Castiel.
1. Intro

**Till We Have Faces**

**Author's Note: **This story is AT/AH where Castiel appears as Dean is making the deal to bring Sam back to life. In this universe, Castiel is higher up in the angel hierarchy and therefore more powerful and has more freedom (but not all powerful, more info to come in later chapters).

Title comes from a great book by C. S. Lewis.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Supernatural_, and no profit is being made from this story. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is unintended.

This is my first fanfic so please, be nice!

**Summary: **What if the angels interfered in the Winchesters' lives earlier? When Sam is killed Dean sells his soul...to Castiel.

* * *

><p><strong>Intro:<strong>

He kept waiting for Sam to breathe. That's all Dean could think of as he dug a hole for the deal box. He couldn't bury Sammy like Bobby suggested, he wouldn't be able to breathe. His heartbeat taunted him, waiting at the crossroads to make a deal.

"Come on already." Four roads branching out into the night, but no matter where he looked—nothing. "Show your face you bitch!"

"Easy, sugar, you'll wake the neighbors." The red-eyed demon was behind him and his first instinct was to pull his gun and put one right between her eyes. His hand remained where it was, balled into a fist.

The entire time Dean was bargaining with the demon he could almost hear Sam's voice telling him to turn around, that this was one of the stupidest things he'd ever done. Dean ignored the lead feeling in his gut. He had to protect Sammy, that's his job, and that means doing whatever it takes to bring him back.

"I'll give you one year and one year only. So? It's a better deal than your dad ever got."

The hunter balked at the terms; only a year when everyone else got ten was the shit end of the stick and he knew it. The demon feigned a sigh, barely containing her glee; they both knew Dean would take the deal in the end.

"Look, I shouldn't even be doing this. I could get in a lot of trouble." She gave a little shrug.

"You're right about that." A gravelly voice interrupted the pair.

Before the hunter could even turn to face the new addition to their little party the crossroads demon shrieked, he spine bowing. Black smoke unfurled from her mouth, the demon trying to escape whatever was being done to its vessel, but some force pushed it right back in, trapping the demon within as the body seemed to burn from the inside out. Within seconds there was only ash, a stain on the loose dirt and gravel road.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean's gun was up, aiming straight for the newcomer's heart. The guy was wearing a rain coat over a rumpled suit, tie askew. With his stoic face and business casual attire, he looked more like an insurance salesman than any demons Dean had hunted before. Didn't mean he wouldn't drop the son of a bitch where he stood.

"That is irrelevant." Blue eyes stared at him intensely, like a bug under glass.

"Yeah, well you just 86'd the demon I was making a deal with so I'd say it's pretty damn important." Dean's adrenaline was pumping, finger tight on the trigger.

"She shouldn't have been making a deal at all. You're...out of her league." For a second it almost seemed like the deranged tax accountant smiled but it must've been a trick of the light. One blink and he was back to blank face.

"Does that make you the floor supervisor? Gotta step in when the drones get out of line?"

"Something like that. Dean Winchester." The man tilted his head in a strange bird-like manner, regarding Dean like _he's_ the crazy one in this situation. "You shouldn't be here."

"If you hadn't ganked that other demon a minute ago I could already be on my way pal." Something about the way the demon's staring at him was making the hair on the back of Dean's neck stand up and do the wave. And when Dean's put off by something he usually shoots first and thinks about maybe asking questions later.

"Since you'll just try to make another deal I might as well step in here." The demon moved closer, ignoring the way Dean's muscles tensed to blow him away. "I offer you the same deal you were going to get. For the return of your brother to this world you get one year and one year only."

Something about this already screwed up situation has Dean's gut churning, but he doesn't have a choice. This is the only shot he's got to bring Sam back, and he's sure as hell gonna take it.

"If you try to weasel your way out, the deal is off. Sam dies and you won't get another chance at this." Is the demon trying to get Dean to reconsider dropping the whole thing? That makes absolutely no fucking sense; demons make deals for souls, that's their SOP.

"Yeah, I got it pal. Now are we gonna seal this thing or what?"

They both move in; the kiss is quick and hard, neither lingering longer than necessary. A huge burst of lightening lit up the night, the familiar smell of ozone in Dean's nostrils as he jumps about a foot in the air. In the split second it takes for his vision to clear, the demon disappears. Not wasting any time, Dean jumps in the Impala and guns it back to the run-down motel where he'd left Sam. He'd never admit to it, not even after downing the better part of a bottle of whiskey, but a part of him is praying with everything he's got that the deal worked, that his brother is alive when he gets there.

* * *

><p>Standing on a bridge crossing a sluggish river, Castiel watched the taillights fade in the distance. One brief meeting with Dean Winchester and the man already hates him. That could have gone better, but it is of little consequence now. Castiel has what he came for. The contract for Dean's soul.<p>

* * *

><p>When Bobby Singer opened the door and found Sam and Dean standing on the stoop his first thought was that he was losing it, gone bat shit crazy. Too much time as a hunter can do that to a person—that or they live holed up in a bunker thinking every traveling salesman and girl scout is an escaped convict from hell. But then again most of 'em don't live long enough to have to worry about dementia.<p>

His second thought was that something must be possessing Sam's body; a demon, maybe a shape shifter or any number of those tricky beasts they kill on a daily basis. No, not possible, Dean would've put Sam through the usual tests—silver, holy water, the whole nine yards. Which left only one possibility.

As Sam thanked Bobby for patching him up and Dean couldn't quite meet the older man's eyes he knew he was right. Dean had made a deal.

"You stupid ass, what did you do? What did you do?" Dean and Bobby had left Sam inside researching while they went to grab some more books out of the truck. Hoped against all evidence to the contrary that Dean's got something other than rock lyrics and favorite shots from Busty Asian Beauties between his ears. "You made a deal, didn't you? For Sam. How long did they give you?"

"Bobby...," Dean sighed, knowing the man wouldn't give up until he answered. "One year. I got one year."

"Dammit Dean! I could throttle you!" Bobby was equal parts pissed and devastated. He'd already lost John, then Sam and now Dean was next.

"And send me downstairs ahead of schedule? We gotta find this yellow-eyed son a bitch and kill him; I got nothing left to lose now, right?" Dean's got that 'nothing you say is gonna change my mind' look on his face. And no matter how much Bobby wanted to crack him over the head with a liquor bottle, he knew the kid was right.

"Alright, ya idjit. Kill yellow eyes and then we're gonna find that demon you made a deal with and kill the bitch before your contract comes due."

"Dean. What...?" The pair turned to find Sam not too far away and Bobby wanted to throttle Dean again. He'd obviously not told his brother what he'd done, and that's just gonna lead to hours of whining and attempted heart-to-heart chats.

Sam looked like he's about to start in when a foreign sound had Bobby grab the boys and duck behind a rusted clunker. Couple of heartbeats later he caught the intruder, shocked into silence for the first time in years when he realized who's looking back at him.

"Ellen? Oh, god."

* * *

><p>Several hours later the four hunters were bruised, battered, and generally look like shit, but they all made it out of the cemetery in one piece. Jake, the guy who killed Sam, is dead and Dean—with help from John Winchester's spirit—had killed the yellow-eyed demon, bringing an end to decades of pain and a relentless bid for revenge.<p>

But they hadn't been in time to stop the opening of the Devil's gate, and now hundreds more demons were unleashed, an army of them free to massacre humans and gather souls.

"Hope to hell you boys are ready," Bobby grunted, loading his gear into his truck alongside Ellen. "'Cause the war has just begun."

"Starting with us finding the demon that Dean made a deal with." Sam was having a hard time coming to grips with what his brother had sacrificed for him. Why couldn't Dean understand that he didn't have to give his life to protect his younger brother?

"That could be a problem, he wasn't your average crossroads demon."

"How so?" Bobby's got that glint in his eye. He and Sam might look worlds apart but Dean knows they both cream their pants when something new and undiscovered pops up.

"He fried the first one that showed up. Burned her from the inside out without even moving." Dean raised an eyebrow at the questioning looks. "Said my soul was out of her league and he was stepping in."

"Well that's unusual, must be someone high up on the food chain." Ellen was resting against the truck's back bumper, shredding a spare shirt to use as makeshift bandages until they got to a motel.

"Doesn't matter," Sam cut in. "We'll find the bastard."

"Well then." Dean nodded, put the Colt in the trunk of the Impala and closed it. "We got work to do."


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This story is AT/AH where Castiel appears as Dean is making the deal to bring Sam back to life. In this universe, Castiel is higher up in the angel hierarchy and therefore more powerful and has more freedom (but not all powerful, more info to come in later chapters).

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Supernatural_, and no profit is being made from this story. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is unintended.

**Summary: **What if the angels interfered in the Winchesters' lives earlier? When Sam is killed Dean sells his soul...to Castiel.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1:<strong>

"That was a day I'll never get back."

"Shut up, Dean." Sam was giving his brother a level nine bitch face as he loaded the equipment in to the Impala. Dean refused to help on principal.

"This is a waste of time, man. We should be out there hunting down the big bads instead of chasing two-bit demons around the country." Dean was not happy. In the month since they'd defeated Azazel and he sold his soul, they had only taken down a couple of low-level demons and a standard salt and burn ghost they'd stumbled across.

"It's called a strategy, Dean. We start with the little ones and work our way up, find out who has your contract." Sam had come up with this brilliant plan and was stubbornly refusing to abandon it.

"Yeah well your strategy can kiss my ass—we got nothing."

At first they tried to summon the demons on their own. After the second time Dean lost his patience and exorcised the bastard they'd stopped answering the phone. Not his fault they were all wise asses. Now they were forced to wait and try to catch someone making a deal, or get fellow hunters to act as bait.

"Just trust me Dean, this will work. Give it some time, we'll get the guy."

"Fine." Dean growled, seeing the resolve in his younger brother's eyes. "But first we're getting some pie."

* * *

><p>"Got a job for the two of ya, if you're done whining like a little girl." Bobby Singer was in his study, surrounded by heaps of books, maps, and other research materials. If the police ever raided Bobby's house, he'd be in a padded cell before you could say 'chupacabra'.<p>

Dean was on the phone, going on and on about not having killed any "real" monsters in weeks.

"Well it's about damn time, I was starting to think you were missing omens or whatever in your old age."

"Shut up, idjit. Got a call from a friend of mine out near Canton, Ohio. Bunch of folks have been getting torn up out there."

"You know what's doing it?" Dean signaled Sam to get out the maps and start looking up their destination.

"That'd be me doing the work for ya. Whatever it is, it's terrifying the town. Place has been under curfew since the attacks began."

"Alright, thanks Bobby. We'll check it out and let you know what's going on." Dean hung up the phone and tossed it in the backseat. "Well, Sammy, looks like we got us a real monster hunt. And if turns out to be nothing, we can stop and see the football hall of fame."

am slumped down in the seat with a sigh, which Dean chose to ignore, cranking Led Zeppelin and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, a shit-eating grin all over his face.

* * *

><p>Canton, Ohio looked like a pretty decent place to live. The city's on the smaller side, with a group of small neighborhoods surrounding a busier downtown area. Dean and Sam got there just about noon, driving down the abnormally empty street. The few people they came across were hurrying to and from their destinations, eyes darting every which way.<p>

"Something's got these people spooked." Sam frowned as they pull up to the county coroner's office.

"That's for damn sure." The pair entered the building and flashed their phony FBI IDs to the office administrator, an average looking red-head who kept giving Sam flirtatious looks as she showed them to the coroner's office. Some people just have bad taste, Dean thought with a chuckle.

"I'm glad they called you guys in. This is the strangest thing I have ever seen and I've been doing the job a long time." The coroner, Dr. Samarah, is a striking woman in her late forties. She lifted the sheet from the latest victim, barely hiding a grimace at what's laid out on the table.

"Wow," Sam was looking down at the mangled corpse like he can tell what he's looking at. The body looks like a bunch of empty sausage casings all thrown together to Dean. "Any idea what happened?"

"Cause of death is blunt force trauma. Almost every bone in this poor woman's body is broken—nearly pulverized. This is the seventh victim in the past three weeks."

"Any idea what caused the injuries?" Dean was titling his head like a spastic pigeon. Maybe that would help the jumble of flesh make sense.

"We're not sure about that. All the victims have the same injuries, multiple blows from the same weapon that basically, well, flattened them. We thought the first victim might have been run over by a big rig, but look here." Dean looked at where she's pointing. There was a spot on the left side above the pelvis with four cylindrical marks, each with a rounded top, stamped in the rubbery skin.

"Is that...a fist?" Sam sounded shocked and Dean can't blame him. A fist? The injury was over half the width of the entire body.

"Looks like it. But I haven't got a clue as to what made that." Dr. Samarah looked equally stumped as she checked her beeping phone. "I pulled some trace evidence from the bodies, it's over there if you'd like to take a look. Excuse me."

"What the hell has fists big enough to crush a person?" Sam wondered aloud after she left as the pair examined some of the other bodies.

"Hell if I know, I thought you were a Sasquatch but maybe the real thing is walking around out there."

"Very funny Dean. But even if it was something huge it would have to be enormously strong to not only break but shatter the victims' bones.

"That's what usually happens when you've got something evil loose out there, Sammy. Sweet little girl gets possessed and suddenly she's throwing mom and pops around like they're dolls." He was flipping through the coroner's notes and cross-checking with the debris that had been lifted from the bodies. "Hey, check this out."

"You found something?"

"I think so. Says here the victims were all killed in different places—at home, leaving work, in the park. But all of them have traces of this same substance on them. Note says the lab identified it as some type of clay."

"Clay? There wouldn't be a lot of it around here. Not enough to regularly come in contact with all of the victims."

"Which means it came from whatever's killing them. Looks like we got a clue, Shaggy."

* * *

><p>Later that night they were eating cheap takeout Chinese food and going over the case. So far they hadn't found anything else, the police were stumped, and there weren't any witnesses to the murders.<p>

"There's gotta be something. A nest of vampires could take out this many people in a short time, but not by crushing them to death. And why these people? They were all killed in different locations, at different times. If something was just grabbing people they wouldn't be waiting for these folks to be alone." Sam was frustrated. He'd been going over the victim profiles, looking for a pattern but so far nothing stood out. "This guy has four kids and a wife, works as a substitute teacher. Looks like he was killed on his way home from a monthly trip to a nudey bar a couple towns over."

"You said that guy is a substitute teacher?" Sam nodded and Dean flipped through a couple of pages in front of him. "Think he worked at Clark High School?"

"Uh...yeah, he was there for two days about week before he died. What's up?"

"Well another victim was a seventeen year old kid, Jack Elliot; he was a junior at Clark High School." Dean raised his eyebrows. It was possible this was just a coincidence but in their line of work things were never that simple.

"Two out of seven isn't much to go on, but at this point it's all we got."

* * *

><p>The next day the brothers arrived at Clark High School and after talking to the principal for a few minutes were introduced to Abby Ramos, the junior class president.<p>

"It was so sad what happened to Jack." The trio were in the hall, having just inspected Jack's locker and found nothing of interest.

"Did you know him well?"

"Not really—actually he was kind of a jerk." Abby bit her lip, looking around as if someone would scold her for speaking ill of the dead. "But what happened to him and all those other people—that's just awful. Plus now we've got an eight o'clock curfew."

"Yeah, a tragedy." Dean agreed with a snort. "Did you notice anything weird or odd happening to Jack or around here before he died. Maybe with Mr. Lasko?"

"The substitute teacher? No, I haven't seen anything odd. Other than them both being dead of course." She gave a nervous sort of laugh, but then looked slightly ashamed of herself.

A loud noise in the otherwise quiet hall had the three of them looking over to where a guy had just dropped his books as he came around the corner. He seemed frozen for a few moments before he scrambled to pick them up, shooting glances at Sam and Dean, looking terrified.

"Who's that?" Something was not right with this kid, he was a nervous wreck.

"Oh, that's Jacob Spitz, he's a sophomore."

"Did he and Jack hang out together?" Sam wondered, following the kid with his eyes as he disappeared around the corner.

"Jacob? No way." She huffed a laugh. "Jack was the big man on campus type, star football player, always dating one cheerleader or another. He used to pick on people like Jacob for fun."

"Huh. You know if Jacob's into any extracurriculars?"

"Not really, I think he spends most of his time at temple. The synagogue over on Elm street." She clarified.

"Alright, thanks for your help Abby." Sam gave her a quick smile before she returned to class.

"Poor kid—last name like Spitz, he's bound to get pushed around."

"Yeah, wonder if he called up something to take care of his problems. One of the victims worked at the synagogue on Elm."

"Well, looks like we're going a-prayin' Sammy."

* * *

><p>By the time they made it to the synagogue, the sun was going down. They entered the building and looked around the main area, spotting the only person there at this time.<p>

"Jacob Spitz?" Sam called out as they approached the bench where the kid was sitting. He jumped up, looking like a rabbit about to bolt.

"Whoa, easy there. We just want to talk to you." Dean held up his hands, trying to keep the kid calm.

"You were at the school earlier. Wh-what do you want?" He was pale and sweating, despite the cool air in the room.

"We just want to talk to you, Jacob. About what's been happening to the people around here. About what happened to Jack Elliot."

"Those other people weren't supposed to get hurt. I didn't think anyone else would get hurt, I just wanted him to leave me alone!" Jacob cried, shaking like a leaf. It seemed like he'd been holding this in for a while now and it was all going to come pouring out.

"Okay, Jacob, it's okay. We can help you, but we need to know what you did." Sam pleaded with the boy.

"I...I didn't think it would work but then she came and—" Jacob fell silent as a strange rumbling reached their ears. "Oh god, it's coming." He whispered before he bolted away from the hunters, towards the back of the hall.

"Hey, wait!" The brothers gave chase, following him through a back door and out into the wooded area behind the temple. Dean could just make out his form, dodging between the trees as he started to follow.

"Dean, watch out!" Sam called from off to his side and slightly behind. Dean, being well used to trusting his brother when he said duck, threw himself sideways without looking back just as a huge foot came down right where he had been a moment before.

He rolled a few times, keeping his limbs tucked in as whatever that thing was tried to stomp him again. Quickly getting to his feet, he pulled his gun and cursed at what he saw.

The creature was huge, at least eight feet tall and twice as wide as a normal man. It had a boulder-like head stuck atop two rounded shoulders with no neck and its eyes were two flat, shiny orbs that looked at them from an unintelligent face.

Dean took aim and pulled the trigger, sinking an entire clip into the thing's face, but it had no apparent effect. The bullet holes glossed over and the thing kept on coming right at him.

"Dean, move!" Sam yelled from behind the creature, shots ringing out. But the thing kept coming for Dean, intent on smashing him with its giant hands and feet.

"It's not working, Sam, we gotta run!" Dean yelled, backing away from the thing and waiting until it swung to duck. A huge fist hit a tree with a sound like thunder, the trunk snapping almost in two. "Let's go!"

While the creature was huge and strong as hell, it was slow and clumsy, having a hard time turning to get at the boys, getting tangled in fallen branches. Sam and Dean took off into the woods, not speaking as they ran flat out, the sounds of trees being felled growing quieter behind them.

When they finally emerged on the other side, they were nowhere near the synagogue and cautiously circled around to get back to their car.

"Damn," Sam breathed, sliding in to the passenger seat gratefully as Dean gunned the engine and got the hell out of there. "I'd say we found what's crushing people to death."

"Yeah, and it nearly got me too." Dean grunted, ignoring the numerous small cuts to his hands and face that he'd got running through the trees. "Now we just have to figure out what the hell it is, and how to stop it."

The pair were quiet as they drove back to the motel.

* * *

><p>"Bobby, the thing was <em>eight feet tall and made of clay.<em> How many things could it possible be?" Dean complained into the phone. The brothers had the other man on speaker as they patched up their scrapes and bruises. Both were well aware that they got away easy. If that thing had landed even a single punch one of them would most likely be dead right now.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, princess. I'm looking for something." The gruff voice of their closest friend cut out for a moment as he moved away from the phone at his desk before they heard him shuffling back, the familiar sounds of pages flipping in a book coming over the line.

"Here it is. Looks like you boys find yourselves a golem."

"What the hell does a Lord of the Rings character have to do with anything?" Dean asked, ignoring the questioning look Sam shot him. He'd caught a marathon of the movies when he was laid up for a while nursing a broken foot.

"No, you moron. A golem is a creature from Jewish folklore. They're inanimate creatures made from clay that have been brought to life by their creators. Originally they were used to protect tribes of people, usually by a rabbi."

"So what, this kid's close to god and that let him bring a hunk of dirt to life to squash people?" Sam threw a dirty sock at his brother, who picked it up and threw it into their mostly-melted bucket of ice. He grinned at Sam's glare.

"More'n likely he made some kind of deal in return for the power to bring the golem to life. It takes some serious juice to get one of these things up and moving."

"I gotta tell you, I don't feel like ending up on a morgue slab as a pile of Jello. So how do we kill this thing?"

"The kid would have had to write his name in blood on a piece of calfskin and put it in the golem's mouth. You get that out of there, the golem goes back to just plain old dirt." Bobby closed the book with a snap, his part done.

"Oh, is that all? So we'll just go ask the rock 'em sock 'em robot to open up real nice and he won't take our heads off?" Dean quipped, shaking his head at the idea of getting close enough to the golem to open its mouth without getting squashed.

"Figure it out, geniuses." Bobby grunted in reply. "The kid might've tried to stop it, but the longer the golem is active, the more it kills, the more out of control it's gonna be. You boys need to take it down before it really loses control and flattens the whole town."

"Okay, Bobby. We'll figure it out." Sam promised, hanging up as Dean flopped down on his bed. "Why can't anything ever be simple?"

* * *

><p>The boys decided that this situation needed to be taken care of immediately, before the golem went ape-shit on everybody. To that end, they wound up in an abandoned barn a couple miles outside of the city, with a scared out of his mind kid with them.<p>

"This is kidnapping you know!" The boy yelled as Dean grabbed his arm and dragged him inside.

"Kidnapping is such an ugly word, we prefer temporary abduction. Besides, we're fixing the mess you made, kid, so you should be thanking us."

"Thanking you? That golem is going to come in here and crush us—all of us! This is insane, we should be getting the hell out of here!" Jacob was nearly hysterical, trying to pull away from Dean as he was forced to sit on a chair and tied down.

"Calm down. The golem hasn't hurt you, we're the ones who should be worried. And since it likes to follow you around like a brainless murdering puppy, you're what we like to call live bait."

"Dean, come on." Sam warned his brother, knowing how terrified the teenager must already be without Dean's input. "It should take some time for the golem to find us out here, so how bout you tell us how this all started?"

"Okay." Jacob seemed to deflate, slumping down in the chair as much as his bindings would allow. "I was just trying to get Jack to stop pushing me around all the time. He used to just bump into me in the halls, make fun of me in class, that sort of thing. But then one day I told him he was just a jumped-up meat head who would be past his glory days once high school ended. After school he beat the crap out of me, while everyone just stood around and watched."

"Why didn't you tell someone about it?" Sam asked, ignoring the face Dean made at him. Dean thought snitching on people was for pansies. If someone was giving you a hard time, you struck back quick and hard, until the learned not to screw with you anymore.

"I did," Jacob spat out bitterly. "I tried to tell my dad, but his advice was to fight back." Dean nodded sagely at that. "I tried to tell the principal but Jack was the school golden boy, the football hero. They weren't going to do anything to him that wasn't a slap on the wrist, and that would have just made him come after me more."

"So you decided that you'd create a mythical creature to take care of him for you?"

"I didn't even think it would work—not at first. I'd heard about golems at temple, and I read a lot about them, but they were just myths."

"So what happened?"

"I met this girl at the library. She saw me reading a book about them, and we got to talking," the kid blushed, clearly crushing hard on this girl. "She told me that I could make one of them come to life. At first I didn't believe her but over time, she convinced me it could work. I just had to find someone who could make it happen."

"And how did you do that?" Dean had a sinking feeling, guessing where the kid's search for revenge took him.

"Well she told me how to summon a demon. I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it's true! All I had to do was put some things in a box, and bury them on this road outside of town. This beautiful woman appeared, and she showed me things, promised me that I could have the power to make golems come to life."

"And what did you have to give her in return, Jacob? Because demons never do anything for free." Sam shot a look at Dean, who was steadfastly not looking in his direction.

"Well...my soul. She said I'd have the power to bring golems to life, and in return she'd get my soul after ten years. It sounded like a good idea at them time..."

"Yeah, it always does." Sam was staring at his brother, but though Dean could feel his eyes burning a hole in him he didn't look over.

"That explains why the golem killed Jack, but what about the others? There were a lot more after him."

"I wasn't careful enough when I made the golem." Jacob said quietly, staring at his shoes. "When I brought it to life, I told it to protect me from people who were mean to me."

"But that was too general, wasn't it?" The pieces were starting to make sense to Sam. "It wasn't killing only the people who were bullying you."

Jacob shook his head sadly.

"It killed Mr. Lasko because he told me off for having food in class, and the librarian because she was rude to me when I kept asking her about folklore books. I tried to stop it, but I couldn't. That's when I went to tell Eli, one of the rabbi's assistant at the synagogue. He was always nice to me, helped me study and let me spend as much time as I wanted there. But when I told him what I'd done, he yelled at me, said he was going to call the police. I begged him not to, but he said they had to know what was going on, so that they could try and stop it. They found his body the next day. Now anytime someone is mean to me, or rude, or anything but nice the golem goes after them."

"Which is why it came after us, since you were scared when you saw us at the school." Dean frowned, checking over the equipment again.

"But why hasn't anyone seen it? I mean, the thing is massive and it's not exactly light on its toes, it's been stomping all over town." Sam still hadn't figured that part out yet, and there were conflicting reports on a golem's abilities so Bobby hadn't been able to nail down that part.

"It can become invisible." Dean raised his eyebrows at that, glancing around like he expected the thing to pop out of thin air. "I mean, when it's not...not hurting people. It has to become visible again in order to...kill them."

"That explains it then." Just as Sam finished, the tell-tale vibrations started. The golem must be close now, its giant footsteps like mini earthquakes heading straight for them.

"You ready for this?" Dean asked his brother, grabbing his weapons.

"Yeah, let's do this."

* * *

><p>The golem crashed through the door to the barn, a little thing like having to stoop to fit through the door not a problem for it. Jacob let out squeaky scream, and the golem's eyes locked on him for a moment before its head swung around, looking for the danger to its creator.<p>

"Hey, ugly. Over here!" Dean yelled, stepping out from behind a support beam. The golem tuned in his direction and lumbered after him. Dean waited until it was close enough to jump out of the way, just as the golem's foot went into a strategically placed hole, large metal rods with bent tops piercing its foot. The golem's body closed around the wounds, trapping it momentarily. The creature was not intelligent enough to get out quickly; it kept trying to move its leg with no results.

"Sam, now!" Dean called out and Sam came around from the back of the barn, a flame thrower strapped to his back. He released a stream of fire, right at the golem's face. The creature wasn't too concerned about that—it couldn't feel pain. It kept trying to get its foot free to go after the hunters.

A couple of minutes were all they got before the golem managed to dislodge the rods from the ground and heave itself out of the hole, lurching after Sam who quickly shut off the flame thrower and backed up.

"My turn." Dean swung his shot gun up to his shoulder and aimed at the thing's face. "Time to go back to being dirt, you stupid bastard." He pulled the trigger and the golem's face—having been superheated, turning it from soft clay to breakable pottery—exploded.

The rest of the golem's body toppled, landing in a huge pile of clay with sharp shards of pottery scattered around the remains. Half-buried in the mess was a piece of old calfskin, dried blood streaked across the surface.

"The bigger they are..." Dean muttered, wiping a splatter of clay from his coat.

"Well done, boys. You got that thing good." The brothers turned around at the female voice, accompanied by a bit of sarcastic clapping. A brunette was standing just behind Jacob, her lips quirked in a smile. Her eyes flipped to black for a moment and back again.

"Who the hell are you?" Sam demanded, aiming the only weapon he had at her—the flamethrower.

"Oh Sammy, I'm hurt. You don't remember me? Let me give you a little hint. I spent some time in your body—left you with that nice shiny burn." She indicated her forearm.

"Meg." Sam spat, finger tightening on the trigger to release a stream of fire.

"Ding ding ding, give the boy a prize. Watch the trigger, Sammy, wouldn't want to burn up Jacob here trying to get me, would you?" She ran a hand along Jacob's shoulders, who flinched and looked even more terrified than he had when the golem first arrived.

Dean was hoping that she would move away enough for him to get a clean shot, but it wouldn't matter. They hadn't planned on going after a demon, so the shotgun he had now wasn't loaded with salt rounds. Those were with the rest of their weapons, halfway across the barn.

"What are you doing here, Meg? Slumming it with crossroads demons?" Dean sneered. Maybe if he could distract her long enough they'd get their chance to take her down.

"Please, I could give a rat's ass about those two-bit bottom feeders. They're all just a bunch of salesmen, Dean-o." She shrugged lightly, not moving from behind the kid.

"Yeah? Sounds like you might be a bit jealous. Why don't you come over here and I'll give you a one-way ticket straight back to Hell, where all of you little demons can have a slap fight about who wins employee of the month."

"You know, I'd love to stay and chat with my favorite hunters, but I've got other plans tonight."

A group of demons came rushing in, ignoring the shotgun blasts Dean threw at them like they were annoying flies. Sam turned, trying in vain to help his brother, and that's when Meg made her move.

Before Sam could do anything to help Dean, Meg was there, picking him up with a hand around his throat. As he scrabbled at her hand, she ripped the flame thrower from him and threw it away from them.

"Ah, Sammy. My Father had such plans for you. But your brother went and killed him, didn't he? And you sent me back to Hell. You ever been to Hell, Sammy? No? Well let me tell you." She hauled him closer, a twisted look on her face. "It's not fun."

With that she launched Sam through the air; he crashed through the wall in a haze of broken wood and old hay.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, overwhelmed by demons, unable to help his brother.


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Thank you all for the feedback and story alerts!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Supernatural_, and no profit is being made from this story. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is unintended.

**Summary: **What if the angels interfered in the Winchesters' lives earlier? When Sam is killed Dean sells his soul...to Castiel.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2:<strong>

No matter how many times you were thrown through a wall you never get used to it, Sam thought, lying on the ground and trying to breathe through the pain. He'd definitely cracked at least a couple of ribs, and every time he coughed it felt like someone was stabbing him.

"Come on Sam, you're gonna have to do better than that." Meg chastised as she casually strolled through the gaping hole. "How did you manage to be the last man standing after Azazel's little celebrity death match?"

"_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satani—" _Sam cried out as Meg nudged his injured side with the toe of her boot, interrupting the exorcism.

"Didn't quite catch that Sammy." She taunted him, then sank to a crouch next to him. She revealed a wickedly sharp knife and began playing it between her fingers. "And you were supposed to lead an army of demons, huh? The boy king and all that jazz. I've got to say, I'm not seeing it. After all, you couldn't even save your girlfriend."

Sam spat in her face. "Screw you, bitch. I'll send you back to hell myself."

"Ah, there's that fire in your belly." Meg wiped away the spittle and blood. She leaned in closer, running the flat side of the knife down his face, then turning it to cut a line across his cheekbone. "You're gonna need it."

* * *

><p>"Why won't you mooks die already?" Dean growled, firing the last of his shotgun shells. It barely caused the demon advancing on him to flinch.<p>

He drew his pistol, trying to keep all three of them in sight. They were coming at him thoughtfully, definitely not your run of the mill smash and grab hell spawn. Cornering him.

"What's the matter, Dean? Weren't expecting us?" The demon in front of him was inhabiting the body of a middle America housewife, the cold gleam in its eyes at odd with the cheerful apple-print shirt it was wearing.

"I never was a boy scout. Too busy killing your kind. Nice blouse."

"This meat-suit does have horrible taste in clothes," the demon acknowledged, fingering one of the bullet holes. "But there's just something so satisfying about possessing an upstanding, church-going mother. Especially when her kids get home early from school." The woman smiled at Dean.

"You planning on talking me to death?" There wasn't time for this, not when Sam was probably injured with a revenge-seeking demon on his ass.

"Oh, I'd love to mess up that pretty face of yours. But the boss has plans for you. After she takes care of your brother, of course."

"Sorry, that's not how this is gonna end." Dean raised his gun.

"Go ahead, shoot me. Won't do you any good, you can't kill me with that." The demon raised its arms, offering a better target.

"Yea, what about with this?" He shifted the gun to the left and fired—right at the flamethrower Meg had left behind. Two shots and it exploded, catching the demon and lighting it up like a Christmas tree. Dean ducked and covered his head with his arms as the demon shrieked.

The distraction was just what he needed. He cold-cocked one of the demons and made a break for his weapons. The barn quickly filling with fire and smoke, Dean cut the rope binding Jacob to the chair.

"Run, get the hell out of here!" He shoved the kid, who looked dazed, until he snapped out of it and took off into the night, right before Dean was tackled from behind.

Struggling for the upper hand, the demon managed to flip Dean onto his back and deliver two quick jabs to his face, splitting his lip and opening a gash below his eye before the hunter kicked him off and scrambled to get his duffel bag. He just managed to grab a flask before he was pulled back.

Unscrewing the cap, Dean splashed holy water in the demon's face. The guy immediately let go and jumped back, grabbing at his smoking flesh. He grabbed a salt-filled shotgun and blasted the bastard again; he stumbled back and fell on a pile of burning hay.

Grabbing hold of the duffel bag, Dean looked up to see another one in front of him. It was wearing a rain coat over a rumpled suit—the demon that bought his soul. He aimed the shotgun at it, a hateful look on his face. The thing standing not a foot from the barrel of his gun looked way too calm for his liking.

"What are you doing here?"

"Let's say I'm...protecting my investment." The guy cocked his head to the side and Dean, angered by the reminder of what he'd done, pulled the trigger.

Moving too fast for a human, the man stepped forward and pushed the shotgun's barrel away from himself—and right at the demon Dean had knocked out earlier who was sneaking up on his flank, catching it in the chest and forcing it back.

The guy raised his hand, and just like at the crossroads, the other demon buckled in pain and burned from the inside out. When Dean turned back, he was alone.

"Sam!" He turned his attention away from whatever the hell had just happened and toward finding his little brother.

* * *

><p>"As much fun as this has been, I do have to cut this short, Sammy." Meg was crouched over Sam, enjoying watching him flinch away from her knife every time she cut his face.<p>

"Then kill me already, I'm tired of looking at you." Sam choked out, the ache in his side spreading. It was getting harder to breathe and he worried that he might have punctured a lung.

"Not just yet, pretty boy. Don't worry, we'll get there. But first you're gonna do something for me." She leaned in close to his ear. "I want the Colt."

"The Colt?" Sam laughed weakly. "Won't do you any good, Dean used the last bullet. Put it through your father's heart."

"Yes, I know." Meg's face momentarily tightened with anger, before she recovered herself and smiled again. "So you have no use for it, do you Sammy? Tell me where it is, and I'll make sure you're dead _before _I rip out your entrails."

Sam bared his blood-stained teeth at her. "Never gonna happen."

"Are you sure about that? What if I told you how to save Dean?"

Sam could swear his heart tightened just then. "Bullshit."

"Come on Sam, you don't live as long as I have without learning a few trade secrets."

"So you can get me the demon that bought his soul?" She was almost certainly lying, but Sam would do anything to free Dean from this deal.

"You really are as dumb as you look, aren't you?" Meg clicked her tongue at him like a naughty school child. "You think every demon trolling for suckers like your brother keeps the contracts? There's a chain of command, dumbass. And Dean's soul went right to the big boss' office."

"You're lying." She had to be, because if she weren't that meant that this already impossible task just got ten times harder.

"Okay, I'm officially over the foreplay now." She moved the knife down his neck, so it was pressing against the jugular. "Satisfy me, or I please myself."

Just as it looked like Sam wouldn't answer and she would kill him, an explosion ripped through the night. Meg turned to look as the barn went up in flames; Sam grabbed the knife from her and plunged it into her chest.

Meg looked down at the injury and then lazily backhanded Sam.

"That stung a little." She stood and took hold of the knife, pulled it out with a sucking noise. She smiled sadistically at the hunter on the ground. "My turn."

She took a step forward and then stopped suddenly, hand flying to her stomach where the tip of a wooden stake was protruding.

"Actually, it's my turn." An unfamiliar voice chimed in as Meg fell to her knees before the man.

Sam gaped at the guy, who was staring down at the demon with a look of revulsion on his face.

"Palo santo," the man offered sagely, and it took Sam a moment to realize he was giving an explanation for the weapon he'd used on Meg. "Borrowed it from your brother."

"Who are you?" What kind of person strode into burning buildings and then staked a demon? Was he a hunter? The facial stubble fit, but not the suit and tie.

"Sam!" Dean's voice rang out from the barn, frantic. Sam turned his head to see his brother running towards him, and when he turned back to look for the other guy, he had vanished.

"Oh god. Are you all right?" Dean dropped to his knees beside his brother, checking him for injuries. Sam sucked in a breath when his hand brushed his left side.

"I'm okay, Dean. Feels like a couple of cracked ribs."

"Okay, we'll get you patched up in no time." Dean looked over at Meg writhing on the ground. He withdrew a machete from the duffel next to him and stood, looking like he was going to take the demon's head off.

"Dean, wait! We need her." Dean looked at his brother like he'd lost his mind. "She knows something about the deal you made. We can pump her for information."

Dean's hand tightened on the blade's handle; he really wanted to kill this bitch. But Sam looked at him with those damn puppy-dog eyes, and he was injured, so Dean cursed and dropped the machete. He grabbed a shotgun and walked over to Meg, but instead of shooting her he hit her with the stock so hard Sam swore he heard something crack, even over the sounds of flames devouring the barn. She collapsed, out cold.

"We gotta get out here, someone must have spotted the fire by now, police will be here soon." Dean helped Sam up and reluctantly let him walk on his own so that he could throw Meg over his shoulder and book it to the Impala.

* * *

><p>Two hours driving east and they crossed into Pennsylvania. Bobby had some old stomping grounds there, an abandoned factory he used when he had to summon or interrogate something. Sam had slept a bit on the way, after Dean quickly treated his cuts and practically forced him to take some painkillers. Now he was determined to get information out of the demon, and there was no way his brother could talk him out of it.<p>

"That was it? He stabbed Meg with the stake and then took off? He didn't say anything else?" Dean was asking what happened for the third time.

"Oh, I forgot, we had a tea party and talked about our feelings. Yea, Dean, that's all that happened." Sam sniped, wincing at the dulled pain in his side. He was pissed that the demon they'd been searching weeks for had been so close, and he hadn't even realized it.

"Doesn't make any sense. This thing makes a deal for my soul, then steps in to save me and you from demons? What are we in the freakin' twilight zone here?"

"I dunno, man. Let's wake up sleeping beauty and find out."

Dean was on board with that plan. They'd carefully drawn a devil's trap on the floor and tied Meg to a chair in the middle of it. He opened a flask and carefully splashed some holy water on her.

Meg came to with a yell, which grew louder when her struggles pulled on the wooden stake still embedded in her stomach. The boys had left it in, just in case.

"Rise and shine, sweetheart." Dean waited a moment and then hit her again with the holy water when she didn't respond.

"I am going to rip you apart when I get out of here." She snarled, glaring at the boys, tangled hair in her face.

"Good luck with that." Dean crossed his arms as he faced the demon. He really wanted to kill it, but Sam was adamant that she could have useful information.

"Tell us what you meant about the contracts not belonging to the demon who made the deal." Sam demanded, trying to stay on his feet and not let any weakness show.

"How about you take this piece of wood out of my guts and then we'll talk."

"No deal, sister." Dean snapped, and then splashed her again.

"Dean." Sam warned, shooting his brother a look. "You can tell us and then we can send you back to hell, or we can keep this up and you'll tell us anyway."

"Ooh, little Sammy Winchester grew a pair, huh? Never thought I'd see the day." Meg taunted him, but she was hunched over, trying to keep the stake from moving again.

"Big talk outta your mouth when you got taken down by an overgrown splinter." Dean countered. "Now answer the question."

"Fine. Not like you two can do anything about it anyway. The crossroad demons humans deal with are grunts, for the most part."

"So what happens to a contract after a deal's made?" Their dad hadn't had any run ins with these demons before, so there was no information in his journal to help them.

"When a human sells their soul, the contract goes up to the big boss, and she decides what to do with them. She might kick them to the general pit or put them in a VIP box."

"She?" Sam needed a name, something concrete they could use to track the demon down, or summon it.

"Yes, she. Did you think all the big guns were men? How very 1950's of you."

"What's her name?" Dean demanded, irritated more than usual.

"Her name is Lilith, and I hope you try to go after her. She'll roast you like the insignificant swine you are. But she doesn't have your contract."

"I thought she got all the contracts?" Something wasn't right here, Dean thought. Either she was dicking them around or she was talking out of her ass.

"Normally she does. But I've heard talk that whoever you made a deal with isn't following protocol."

"What does that mean?" Sam's already strung out body went rigid.

"Someone on high came down for you personally, Dean-o. Whoever it is, they own you lock, stock, and barrel."

"Yeah? Point me in the right direction, sweetheart, I'll kill him too."

"I would if I could. I'd just love to see you get ripped to pieces."

"Enough. What does this guy want with Dean?" Sam was getting impatient.

"Not sure. But what I do know, Sammy, is that when your brother dies, he's going to be some very powerful demon's personal little bitch. And it's all thanks to you." Meg smiled at him, and he snapped.

"Sam, don't!" Dean yelled, but Sam was too quick, lunging forward to get at Meg. In his haste, he dragged his foot across the chalk and broke the trap keeping her in check.

With a flick of her fingers, Meg sent both boys flying—but she was weakened from the holy wood, and they landed only a few feet away. In the next moment she ripped her arms free from their restraints and stood, laughing at the hunters.

"Sorry to cut out early, boys. See you around." And then she was gone, out the second-floor window, leaving behind shards of glass and a bloody stake.

"Dammit, Sam! What were you thinking?" Dean's ire quickly turned to worry as he saw Sam curled in a ball on the floor.

"Sam!"

"I'm good, Dean."

"Okay, c'mon. We gotta go. We'll call Bobby on the road." Dean hauled his brother to his feet. "And then we're going to find the son of a bitch and end this."

* * *

><p>The next day the brothers met up with Bobby in Illinois and followed him to a small house.<p>

"Bobby, what are we doing here?" Sam asked, looking around the nice, normal neighborhood. Bobby hadn't said much on the phone, just told the both of them to get their asses here as fast as possible.

The front door opened and a pretty brunette in a tank top stepped out.

"Bobby!" Sam and Dean were stunned when she hugged the older man tight and managed to lift him off his feet.

"You're a sight for sore eyes." The gruff older hunter commented affectionately.

"So, these the boys?"

"Sam, Dean. This is Pamela Barnes, best damn psychic in the state."

Introductions out of the way, the four made their way into the house, Sam looking around the place while Dean was silently flirting with their host.

"Dean Winchester. Heard you got yourself tangled up with a big bad. Not a very smart move."

"Yeah, well, nobody lives forever right?" It was a sad attempt at making light of the situation, but she let it slide.

"You hear anything, Pamela?"

"Well, I Ouija'd my way through a dozen spirits. No one seems to know who made a deal with your boy, or why."

"So what's next?" Bobby wasn't discouraged, he'd worked with Pamela many times before, and she was one of the best. If anyone could find out what the hell was going on, she was the one.

"A séance, I think. See if we can see who did the deed." She led them deeper into the house, into the kitchen.

"You're not gonna summon the damn thing here?" Now Bobby was looking a little unsettled.

"No," she smiled. "I just want to get a sneak peak at it. Like a crystal ball, without the crystal."

The guys followed her down a set of stairs into a small basement that was set with everything you'd need to communicate with spirits and monsters. Pamela went to a cabinet to retrieve some candles, her tank top riding up when she bent down to reveal a tattoo that read 'Jesse Forever' across her lower back.

Dean nudged Sam and pointed it out to him. "Who's Jesse?"

Pamela laughed. "Well it wasn't forever."

"His loss." Dean threw in, smirking.

"Might be your gain." She winked as she passed by the boys.

"Dude, I am so in." Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, who gave him a look that clearly said 'you need to get your priorities straight'.

"Yeah, she's gonna eat you alive."

"I've got less than a year to live. Bring it." He tried to hide it, but Sam could see his through his slightly-off smile. Dean was just going through the motions here.

Pamela walked by them again, this time carrying a folded black cloth. She looked Sam up and down. "You're invited too, grumpy."

"You are _not_ invited." Dean made sure to point out.

After she had finished setting the table and lighting the candles, the four sat. Pamela was quiet for a few minutes, hand on her forehead, head titled to the side slightly like she was listening to something only she could hear.

"Right. I need to touch something our mystery monster touched."

"Here." Sam produced the palo santo stake, stained a rusty red from Meg's blood. "He stabbed a demon with it." He explained at her questioning look. "Is that going to work?"

"Hmm." Pamela closed her eyes and touched the stake with her fingertips for a moment. "Yes, I can sense the demon but there is another presence underneath...much older, more powerful. This will work. Take each other's hands."

The group joined hands as Pamela began to chant an incantation.

"I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle." She repeated the mantra over and over. When nothing happened after a few minutes Dean decided to take a look, glancing around at the others who had their eyes closed.

A television in the corner flickered on, static on the screen and a high-pitched noise filled the room, growing louder and louder. Sam and Bobby opened their eyes, looking around uncomfortably at the noise, but they didn't break the circle and Pamela kept chanting.

"I invoke, conjure, and command...Castiel?" She paused, a frown line between her eyebrows as she listened to whatever was talking to her. "No. Sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy."

"Castiel?" Didn't sound like a name Dean had ever heard before.

"It's name," Pamela explained distractedly. "It's whispering to me...warning me to turn back."

Sam jumped a little when the table began shaking, the loud noise growing so that he wanted to cover his ears as Pamela kept chanting.

"I conjure and command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face..."

Bobby had a really bad feeling about this, and as a hunter who had survived as long as he had, he knew when to trust his gut. "Maybe we should stop."

"I almost got it." Pamela was determined to see behind the curtain. "I command you, show me your face. Show me your face now!"

The flames atop the candles shot unnaturally high as the noise reached an ear-splitting level. Pamela screamed, opening her eyes; a brilliant white light poured from them, filling the space around the table with such intensity that the others had to shield their eyes for a moment. Her scream choked off suddenly and she fell backwards, Bobby catching her just before she hit the ground.

"Pamela...Pamela!"

Her eyes flipped open, the pupils shrunken to the tiniest of pinpricks. She squeezed her eyes shut again and and rubbed them furiously. When she opened them, they were almost back to normal, if a little unfocused.

"I'm okay...I think I'm okay." It sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than the guys; Sam had his phone out, halfway through dialing 911 but he stopped when she let out a shaky breath and sat up with help from Bobby and Dean.

"What the hell did you see?" Dean looked at Bobby and then back to Pamela, face gone slightly pale.

"I don't know what that was, but it was powerful. I have seen some horrific things doing this over the years but that was...," she was obviously shaken, trying to find the words. "I'm sorry I couldn't find out more, Dean. But whatever that thing is, you should stay as far away from it as humanly possible."

"Yeah," Dean agreed quietly as Bobby went to get a bottle of whiskey and some shot glasses. "I wish I could."

* * *

><p>Later that night, Dean and Bobby were waiting in an empty storage shed. They'd covered the floor and walls with protective symbols from every faith and religion they could think of. It took them most of the day; the symbols seemed to glow faintly for an instant when Bobby finished the summoning ritual.<p>

"You sure you did the ritual right?" Bobby gave Dean the look that question deserved. "Sorry. Touchy, touchy huh?"

The tension in the room was almost palpable. Sam had been against this idea from the start, arguing that it was suicidal to want to chat face to face with something that nearly burned the eyes out of a woman's skull who merely caught a peek at it. But Dean was determined to do this, and on his terms. He was still rattled by the demon showing up to 'help' him and Sam.

Dean had left a still too-injured to fight Sam behind to look after Pamela, who had started with shots of whiskey and was double fisting beers when they left her house. Now all they had to do was wait.

As if on cue, the roof started rattling, sounding like it was set to blow off any second.

"This might be wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind." Dean quipped, as he and Bobby armed themselves with shotguns and faced the door. The door which was now splintering open, despite the heavy crossbar they had used as a barricade.

The trench coat wearing demon calmly walked in, the overhead lights popping as he entered, showering the hunters with sparks. The guy didn't slow down as he walked through a devil's trap and over a salt line. Dean and Bobby both took aim and fired, one using ball bearings made of iron, the other salt rounds. They didn't faze their opponent in the least.

As he got closer the hunters dropped the guns and picked up different weapons. Bobby had borrowed a very old, mystically powerful knife from a friend of his that owed him some favors. It was made of iridium, a metal harmful to most monsters, and reportedly blessed with salt, holy water, and the faith of at least four different religious leaders. Bobby's friend swore up and down that there wasn't a monster on this earth that he'd met that couldn't be harmed by this knife. Bobby believed him and that was good enough for Dean, because it might be their last shot; he held the knife out of view behind his back and hoped that it worked.

"Who are you?" He demanded as the man came to stand between him and Bobby, looking very unconcerned that he'd been shot at repeatedly.

"Castiel. I bought your soul." There was little to no emotion in the guy's face or voice, like he was just reading from a list of numbers rather than discussing a man's fate.

"Yeah, I got that."

Dean decided to make his move, raising the knife and bringing it down to stab into the demon's heart. Dean wasn't sure what to expect would happen—the guy would burst into flames or drop to the ground screaming, or at least be wounded a bit with a knife jammed in his heart—but there was none of that. He even looked slightly amused before he grasped the knife handle, pulled it out easy as could be and dropped it on the floor.

Bobby, having recovered from his momentary shock, lifted a machete and swung for the guy's neck. Take the head off most beasts and it kills them, right? The man reached back and stopped the blade _with his bare hand_, didn't even break a sweat in the process. He turned and raised the other hand, touching Bobby on the forehead with two fingers. The hunter immediately fell to the ground, unconscious.

The man—demon—whatever he was turned back to Dean.

"You called?"


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **At this point Castiel is the more unemotional character from season 4. Don't worry. He'll be his usual confused, lovable self after spending more time around Dean.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Supernatural_, and no profit is being made from this story. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is unintended.

**Summary: **What if the angels interfered in the Winchesters' lives earlier? When Sam is killed Dean sells his soul...to Castiel.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3:<strong>

Dean dropped to one knee and checked on Bobby. He seemed to be breathing fine, and his pulse was steady.

"Your friend is alive. I thought we should talk in private." The trench-coat wearing thing shifted through a pile of weapons, his back to Dean. After determining Bobby would live, Dean eyeballed the machete within reach. If he was quick enough he might get a clean shot while the guy's back was turned.

"I would advise against that." The man didn't even look behind him, more interested in what the hunters had brought to fight him.

"Can't blame a guy for trying." Whatever was in front of him was so far outside the realm of what he was used to dealing with that Dean couldn't process it all—so he relied on old faithful: fake it 'til you make it. He stood carefully.

"I could, if I so chose." A pause, and then he turned to see Dean's confused look. "Bad luck that knife didn't kill me, Dean. Or did you forget that if you try to renege on our deal, Sam dies?"

Dean's brain went frantic and his lungs seized up like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room; he hadn't forgotten that little add-on but as usual he'd set his sights on taking the demon out quickly and the thought of what would happen if he failed was left behind. Now he had to figure out how to keep Sam alive and he had nobody to blame but himself.

"Don't," his voice shook just a little. "If you're going to take it out on someone, then take me."

He didn't think he'd be able to give up the time he had left, but if the choice was between him dying earlier than expected or Sam's life, there was only one answer.

"That was not our deal." Blue eyes stared at him, hard.

"Please." Dean choked out; he hated that he was begging the damn thing that was going to drag his soul to hell, but he would do it if that saved his brother.

A slight frown on the man's face. It was the most emotion Dean had seen so far.

"Very well," he approached the hunter, who stood his ground though he was sweating like a turkey before Thanksgiving. The knife that had been abandoned on the floor was suddenly in the maniac's hand, blade gleaming where it wasn't already covered in blood.

Dean watched the knife wearily, tensing as it got closer and closer, and then moved past him. The loud clatter of the weapon dropping to a table made him jump.

"I wouldn't try that again." The gravelly voice was hard, cold.

"You're letting me go?" Dean was eying the man, still ready for an attack. "Not to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything—but why?"

"If I killed you now, that would break the terms of our deal." The man moved away from him and began studying the walls. "Besides, I find you intriguing."

"A demon likes me, huh? I'm not sure what to say."

"It's not a good thing. I have never met a being more reckless with its own life."

"That's gotta count for something. So, Castiel, was it? What kind of name is that? Doesn't sound like a demon." Dean figured if he wasn't going to die tonight, he could at least get some information. The dude had walked through a devil's trap and over salt lines. Unless he was the grand pooh-bah of demons, he had to be some other breed of monster.

"This symbol is incorrect." Castiel ignored the question, examining a set of drawings at about eye-level on one of the walls.

"You mean Bobby got something wrong?" Despite how bizarre this situation was, Dean was definitely going to rib the older hunter for this—if they both made it out alive.

"It is for protection, though of a more iniquitous nature."

"You want to be a little more clear?"

"It protects against venereal disease."

"Crotch rot?" Dean laughed. If he didn't find humor in the little things, he wouldn't be able to get out of bed most days, and this was pretty damn funny to him. Here they were trying to take down some big bad with the power to incinerate demons without moving a muscle and instead they were protected against having to take an embarrassing trip to the doctor for some anti-itching cream.

"The Lydian language can be tricky if you weren't around when it was spoken."

That brought any kick Dean was getting out of this to a grinding halt. He couldn't wrap his brain around something that had been alive when iron was the new thing all the cool kids wanted. As if sensing this, Castiel glanced at Dean and a flicker of something alien and very old passed behind his eyes.

"What the hell—I'm just gonna come out out and say it. What are you?"

* * *

><p>Sam rubbed a hand over his face, squinting to make out the text in front of him. Dean and Bobby had been gone too long and he was anxious, fighting to keep from falling asleep thanks to a heady combination of fatigue and heavy-dose painkillers.<p>

Pamela was dozing in the most uncomfortable looking position on the couch, the bottle of Jim Bean she'd been clutching like a life line tipped over on the floor next to her. To her credit, Sam only had to offer to slap her once when she started freaking out, though she complained that the lights were hurting her eyes so now he was working by a very dim desk lamp.

Sam was thinking about borrowing—a.k.a. stealing—a car and going after his brother when Pamela started thrashing around in her sleep. From the sounds she was making it was obvious she was reliving some part of whatever she'd seen during the séance.

Sam crossed over and shook her gently, trying to cut off the nightmare before it really got started. The Winchesters knew a thing or two about night terrors.

"Hey, Pamela, wake up." When she didn't respond he called her name louder. "Pamela!"

She woke with a start and it took a moment of flailing limbs before she calmed down enough to focus on Sam, though judging by the perplexed look on her face she had no idea who he was.

"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house, Gigantor?" Her speech was a little slurred but didn't seem too badly affected by the copious amounts of alcohol.

"It's me, Sam. Sam Winchester? My brother and I came with Bobby Singer to see you. Any of this ringing a bell?" When she still stared at him like he was speaking Urdu he got up and switched on the overhead light.

"'Course I know it's you, Sam." Pamela groaned, shielding her eyes from the light. "Wouldn't forget a perky little ass like that. Could bounce a nickel off that thing."

"Uh...thanks." Only in his world would a hot woman telling him he had a nice ass not be the most interesting part of the day. "How you feeling?"

"Like I almost got my eyes burned out." She rubbed furiously at her eyes for a minute and then blinked across the room at Sam.

"Yeah, sorry about that." That was the best apology his doped up brain could churn out. "Do you mind if I ask...I mean, if you don't want to talk about it I totally understand..."

"You want to know what I saw?"

"If it's not too much trouble."

"How much do you know about psychics?" Pamela stretched, something popping in her neck.

"Not much." He hadn't had a premonition or vision or even one of those weird feelings he'd get once in a while when something supernatural was going down since they'd killed yellow-eyes. Plus Sam figured whatever "gifts" he got from a demon were probably worlds apart from what real psychics experienced.

"It's different for everybody." She got up and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a couple of beers. She handed one to Sam and clinked the bottle necks together. "Hair of the dog."

Sam took a long pull of his drink, the cold liquid easing the dryness in his throat and relaxing him a little.

"Some people hear spirits more clearly, while others get pictures from them. I know a guy down in Arizona that gets into this really deep trance and then starts babbling all these cryptic messages that are a real bitch to interpret."

"So all that crystal ball, tarot card stuff is fake?"

"Most of it. Those things can help—if you're a real psychic. Gives you something to focus on, especially if you're casting a wide net. Usually you get a lot of the same spirits who can help or at least point you in the right direction." She sat down at the table next to Sam and flipped through some pages of the old battered book he'd been reading. "That's what I did today, used a physical connection to something your mystery monster touched as an anchor to help find the guy."

"What happened, exactly? Do you remember at all?"

"It was the strangest thing. Normally I call out to a spirit, and if they respond then I 'see' them. It's all very new-agey and whatever to say this, but it's sort of like a third eye—I can definitely see them, but it's not the same as looking at you."

"Did you get a look at the guy? Because Dean and I have seen him before and nothing like that happened to us."

"You were seeing whatever manifestation he's taken on this plane. I was trying to peek behind the curtain, see what it really looked like. For a split second there was this blinding light and I could feel it...overwhelming me, burning. Next thing I know I was seeing _through_ his eyes just for a heartbeat and then I was back here. I didn't get much from his mind—don't think he was in the mood for sharing. Felt like a bunch of whirling blades bouncing around in there, way too intense for a human to handle."

"And of course Dean decides to run off and confront this thing face to face." Sam's leg started bouncing up and down absently, his strung-out body reacting to stress. "Does the link stay open? Could you see what he's doing now? I mean, not that I would expect you to after last time." He hastily amended. If Pamela got injured while on his watch Bobby would kill him.

"Sorry, grumpy, doesn't always work like that. I'd be surprised if the guy's not set up a block to prevent this from happening again." She studied Sam from the corner of her eye as he drank her beer. "But I am getting some vibes off of you."

"Me?" Sam laughed, somewhat nervously. "What, you reading me mind?"

"Maybe. I know what you've been doing with that demon, Sam. The one with the super-special knife."

Sam swallowed nervously, the mouthful of beer he'd been drinking going down the wrong way. After he finished spluttering he put his bottle down and tried to look at Pamela without giving anything away.

"She's just someone that pops up once in a while to help out, no big deal."

"Sam, when does a demon ever do anything out of the goodness of their heart? She wants something. I can feel what's inside of you. If you think you have good intentions, think again."

Sam chose not to answer, drinking his beer quietly. She didn't know what was at stake here. It was Dean's _soul_ and if Sam could save him...Pamela didn't know what she was talking about

* * *

><p>"You're not ready."<p>

"For what?"

"For any of it." Castiel answered, voice grave. Dean was surprised he noticed the difference.

"Is this gonna turn into some Mr. Miyagi training bullshit? 'Cuz I've got better things to do."

"Yes, you do. And you're not ready." Castiel's gaze dropped from Dean's face to the weapons surrounding him. He didn't seem impressed. "You left Sam behind."

"What?"

"You came with Bobby Singer, and left Sam behind. He must still be injured. Good."

"What the hell are you talking about?" It couldn't be a good thing that Castiel was wondering about Sam. Did that bastard want his brother's soul too? No way, Dean would find a way to gank him before he let that happen.

"Your friend will be awake shortly." Just as the words left his mouth a low groan came from behind Dean. He turned to see Bobby blinking up at the roof, confused.

"Hey, you alright?" Dean held out a hand and helped the hunter to his feet.

"What the hell happened?" Fortunately Bobby didn't look to worse for wear; actually he looked more pissed than anything. "Where'd that asshat go?"

Dean looked to where Castiel had been a minute ago, gut tightening. Gone. The fucker was gone, and he'd been talking about Sam. Who they'd left behind, injured.

"Shit." Dean swore loudly and started throwing weapons into his duffel carelessly.

"What's goin' on?"

"I think he went after Sam."

"Shit." Bobby echoed Dean, rushing to get everything in the Impala before they peeled off.

* * *

><p>Sam was just staring blankly at the wall in front of him, too tired to do anything else, when a sound like feathers rustling caught his attention. He jumped up, suddenly not tired when he saw the demon that stabbed Meg in the room with him, and in the guy's hand—the Colt.<p>

"Sam."

"How'd you get in here?"Sam wondered. The guy—Castiel, that's what Pamela had called him—shouldn't have been able to get inside. Dean, Sam, and Bobby had demon and monster proofed the house as best they could in the couple of hours before the other two took off. "Where's Dean?"

"Your brother is fine." Castiel turned the gun over in his hand, fingers tracing the inscription on the barrel. "_Non timebo mala. _I will fear no evil."

"What do you want with that? It's useless now." There was little chance that Castiel would give up the gun that he most likely came here to steal, but Sam had to try. "No more bullets left."

"Sam, who are you talking to?" Pamela came in from the kitchen where she'd been scrounging up some food. Said she couldn't sleep, and who could blame her. The dish she was carrying broke when she saw who had invaded her house, chicken and rice scattering everywhere.

The sound of tires screeching broke the silent stand off they had going and Castiel glanced once more at Sam before he vanished.

"Crap." Sam dropped to the couch and put his face in his hands. "Dean's gonna kill me."

* * *

><p>"He took <em>what?<em>" Dean yelled at his brother. After he and Bobby had rushed back to Pamela's place they'd found the pair unharmed—except for some food all over the floor—only to be told that Castiel had gotten away with the Colt. "I'm gonna _kill_ you!"

"Dean, it's not like I handed it to the guy." Sam was pissed too. Normally they'd have the Colt locked up, but Dean had taken the Impala on a hunt and Pamela didn't have a safe so Sam hid the gun in an upstairs closet. How was he supposed to know some crazy ass demon was going to break through their wards and steal it? "And why isn't he dead?"

"The dude's like Jason Voorhees, you can shoot him, stab him, drown him in a lake and he'd keep coming for you, all calm-faced and creepy. Like a doll."

"None of the weapons affected him at all?" That was a new one.

"Nope."

"Just so I got it straight, this demon or whatever he is buys Dean's soul, crosses salt, Devil's traps, and isn't harmed by holy water or silver," Dean and Sam nodded as Bobby listed the useless things they'd tried to kill Castiel with. "And then steals the one weapon we got that could possibly kill him?" Another nod from the brothers Winchester. "Well, we're screwed."

"Yep." Sam agreed.

"Like a stripper in the champagne room." Dean added, his usual helpful self. Pamela snorted like a lunatic in the corner where she'd holed up with a brand new bottle of bourbon.

Three hunters with no idea how to kill something, a traumatized psychic, and their most effective weapon stolen.

They were definitely screwed.


End file.
